Spectacle(103)

Nathalie reached in her pocket for a few centimes. She tossed them in the cup and the woman clasped her hand in gratitude. Nathalie pulled her hand away and for the first time, looked the beggar in the eye. Her face was coated in soot and dirt but her eyes—

She’d seen those eyes before.

Eyes she saw peeping over a fan at Père Lachaise, and eyes that glared at her every day this week from the pages of Le Petit Journal.

And then you did the strangest thing. Aunt Brigitte, extending her hand to show Nathalie what happened in the dream.

Time became solid and ceased to be. Or turned into water and disappeared into the earth. It was no longer time in that moment.

Zoe Klampert narrowed her eyes with a sneer.

A challenge.

Nathalie grabbed her wrist. The woman writhed out of her grip with surprising force. She’s strong.

Zoe shoved her off balance and raced away.

Nathalie gave chase to her; an elderly woman blocked her way. “Shame on you. What kind of person goes after a beggar?”

“That’s Zoe Klampert!” She wriggled herself free and ran into the dim light. Everything was shadows and half-lit faces and tricks of the light. Then she saw Zoe pass under a gaslamp. Nathalie weaved in and out of the crowd, gaining on her.

Several people turned their heads in confusion as Nathalie sprinted by. Zoe crossed a street and Nathalie stepped off the curb, just meters away. “Help! Zoe Klampert the killer!”

A dozen or so young men cut off her path, laughing and yelling and smelling of alcohol. One of the men hooked his elbow around hers. “Pranzini is dead! Come celebrate with us!”

Nathalie unhooked herself and stumbled away as they laughed. She searched the street and saw the swish of a robe disappear into an alley. Nathalie dashed in after her.

Zoe halted, back turned. She hesitated for a moment then faced Nathalie again, thrusting a vial of colorless liquid between them. “Hydrochloric acid. It’ll burn a hole through anything it touches. Including skin.”

Nathalie took a step back.

“You want to scream now.” She tilted the vial from side to side. “I do know what you’re thinking. One touch of the hand, and I can read a mind. Thanks to that invalid whose misery I ended the other day and a refreshing injection of his blood.”

Nathalie’s voice died in her throat. Think.

“No, don’t think. I’m in your head, remember?” Zoe pulled the cloak off her head. “I spent the last few days in Monsieur Gagnon’s mind—he’s quite fond of you, by the way—and what an advantage that has been. That and the fact that beggars are invisible to most people. Otherwise I never would have known about Christophe’s plan.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not,” Zoe said, putting her hand over her heart. “The invalid hasn’t been buried yet. Body is still in refrigeration. Christophe had it put on a slab to give you a private showing this morning. To see if you’d have one of your visions. I don’t know what exactly you see, but I couldn’t have you learning anything about me.”

Nathalie’s brow furrowed. I hate you.

“Well, I don’t much care for you, either. Useful gift, isn’t it? I think I might have managed to replicate it in the lab, too.” She pointed to Nathalie’s head. “And I plan to stay there a few days before killing you. I need context for the blood experiments I need to run on the rare species Natural Insightful.”

“Nathalie?” Simone’s voice behind her. Nathalie turned to see Simone and Louis gathered at the entrance to the alley, little more than silhouettes in the emerging light.

“One step toward her,” Zoe hissed, “and I shatter this at her feet.”

Nathalie cleared her throat. “Do—do as she says. It’s acid.”

Louis ran away.

Coward.

“He is a coward,” said Zoe. “Most men are, when you look closely.”

Nathalie faced Zoe again. “You could have killed me in Notre-Dame.”

“And collect your blood in the middle of a church?” She shook her head. “No, that was just a warning. I was upset about the apartment—fleeing was inconvenient. But you told me you were going. Well, you told your friend over there.”

Nathalie was still formulating the question in her mind when Zoe answered it.

“Extraordinary hearing,” she said, tugging at an earlobe. “A gift from Damien. Or as you call him, the Dark Artist.”

“Here.” Nathalie pulled back her sleeve and exposed her wrist. “Take my blood now. You—you don’t have to kill me.”

Zoe held up the vial. “I’d need to fill about thirty of these to do what I want to do.”

“Stop.” Another voice from behind.

Fear sailed across Zoe’s face. A ship in a storm.

Nathalie turned and saw a policeman with his pistol raised. Christophe and Louis stood behind him.

That’s why Louis ran. To get help.

“Not a coward after all, Madame la Tuerie,” said Simone.

Zoe dashed down the alley and out the other side, smashing the glass tube somewhere along the way. They barreled after her, leaping over trash and a pile of clothes, closing the gap quickly. Zoe hooked a right into the crowd. Nathalie sprang forward and grabbed a piece of her robe to slow her down. The policeman reached them and took Zoe by the arm.